Roam: Time Walkers World Special Edition

by E. B. Brown

  She must keep her wits; she must know the truth.

  “You were away for so long, my lord. We all thought ye were dead. What you went through to return to us must have been horrible,” she said. She squeezed his hand, pulling it into her lap as she met his gaze. It was an intimate motion, but a necessary one if she meant to discover his secrets. He responded in kind, raising her hand to his lips. He placed a soft kiss on her knuckles, his eyes set on hers.

  “’Tis nothing that I worry on. What is in the past is over – it cannot be undone. All that matters is that I am here now. Rest yer mind, I shall not leave again.”

  The sting of bile burned her throat. He was lying. His jaw was tight and his words crisp, his eyes narrowed as she stood up. Despite the way her hand shook, she gave him the most stunning smile she could muster.

  “I – I fear I must beg yer leave. I suddenly feel quite faint,” she lied.

  “Should I escort ye to yer chambers, my dear?”

  “No!” she shot back, quickly checking herself. She lowered her voice, placing a hand against her chest. “I mean, no, I shall be fine. Thank ye.”

  She stammered out the reply and brushed past him, knocking into a chambermaid who tried to collect Skye’s discarded cup. Skye muttered a hasty apology but did not stop. The weight of Malcolm’s stare felt heavy on her skin as she threaded through the crowd, the people only obstacles she pushed through. She felt the drawing of the raven flutter to the ground yet did not turn back, too afraid to face him again. Was he suspicious of her questions? Did he know that she knew the truth?

  Malcolm was not Laird Duncan’s son. He was an imposter – a pretender – a stranger from the future.

  And he was Dagr’s brother.

  She was not vapid enough to underestimate the power of that revelation. She focused her eyes on those who surrounded her, searching the room. Angus was speaking to a young serving woman near the hearth, but his eyes shifted immediately to Skye’s as she walked past.

  Did Angus already suspect something was amiss? She was not privy to his decisions, yet she was sure there was a reason he ordered the Cameron men to break camp. If Angus knew Malcolm was an imposter, there would be chaos. Her uncle Ian was only loyal to the McMillans because it benefitted him to be, not because of any greater bond. Without a legitimate heir, Duncan McMillan’s lands were left vulnerable, and Skye had no doubt Angus and Ian would be the first in line to claim them.

  Across the great hall, Dagr stood with Kanor. She was surprised to see they seemed to grudgingly get along, encompassed within a group of rowdy McMillan men. Dagr stood out among them, not only for his distinct appearance, but for the way he carried himself among others. Suddenly, things she had thought little of seemed important. The way Dagr’s jaw tightened when Malcolm gave him an order, or the way Malcolm grinned like a fat cat when Dagr obeyed his commands. She had noticed the tension between the two men from the beginning, yet it only dawned on her then.

  Of course, Dagr did not enjoy taking orders from Malcolm. In the time they came from, Dagr was the eldest, and Malcolm was the spoiled younger brother. Did Dagr not understand what danger they were all in? If any of the Highlanders suspected Malcolm was not the true McMillan heir, there would be war. Duncan McMillan had betrayed the trust of too many clan leaders by claiming Malcolm as his son, and the McMillan forces did not have the strength to stand alone against them all.

  The massive Norseman staggered, shoving a hand out against the wall to steady himself. A roar of laughter erupted from the men as Kanor shook his head, grinning ruefully at his cup of ale as he shrugged. He dropped the cup and made off for the stairs, and Skye knew her tincture had taken effect. It would only keep him down for half an hour, so she had to work fast if she wanted his knife. She waited a respectable amount of time before she emerged from the crowd and followed him.

  He was face down on his bed when she slipped into his room. His arms were sprawled above his head, his legs limp and lifeless. She could see his still breathed by the rapid and rise and fall of his shoulders, and he made guttural snoring noises with each exhale. When she sat gingerly down beside him, he let out a long groan, slapping one burly hand against his head.

  “Och, doona move!” he growled. Linitrop was a reliable concoction, known for the rapid relief it gave of pain. Healers used it frequently for tasks such as pulling teeth, and as Skye reached for his knife she recalled that most men recovered completely in short order. They would often talk while affected, things they did not recall when they woke. While under the influence, however, the person could be unpredictable, so she was not too shocked when Kanor suddenly sat up and grabbed her hand.

  “I’m in no mood for a tumble, lass,” he advised her, his voice slurred with the effect of the tincture. His sleepy eyelids drooped beneath heavy brows, his lips set in a mischievous grin. She plucked his fingers off her wrist, slowly twisting out of his grip as she pushed him back down on the bed. He fell backward without much protest, causing the bed to shudder beneath them.

  “Nor I,” she agreed. She pulled the knife from his belt and turned it over in her hands, admiring the intricate quality of their piece. Embedded deeply in the hilt was a dark bloodstone, surrounded by an array of carved rune work unlike any she had ever seen. She could not wait to compare it to the Leabhar Sinnsreadh.

  “Ye have my blade,” he said. His tone was that of a curious child, observant but non-threatening.

  “What rune is this?” Skye asked. He stretched out one hand and pawed her, and she shoved it impatiently away.

  “Oh, that? ‘Tis a Key, of course,” he laughed. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tossed her back onto the bed with one swift motion, ignoring the fact that she had his knife. He was going to kill her when he woke, she had no doubt.

  “No, you oaf!” she hissed, shoving him as hard as she could. He obediently rolled over. She staggered off the bed, angrily righting her chemise as she glared at him. “Which key?”

  “Hmpf,” he pouted. She gave up as he crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling, his eyes glassy and uninterested. When her clothes were set right, she turned to the door. There was no use trying to question him, nor was it probable he would say anything sensible. In fact, she prayed the rune was something useful to help her escape Castle Dunloch because when the Norseman woke, he was not likely to be amused with her.

  “Fooofth!”

  Halfway through the door, she paused at his slurred utterance.

  “What did you say?” she demanded, using the most authoritative voice she could summon.

  “The Fifth Key. “Tis the Fifth,” he replied.

  He immediately started snoring. Skye closed the door and made her way back to the great hall.

  Malcolm was thankfully occupied when she returned. There was no sign of her cousin or his men, and for that, she was grateful. Her mind was too busy with the implications of what she held in her hand. It was what Dagr wanted – a way to send him and his brother back to their own time.

  She slipped out into the garden, hoping a bit of air would help her think. His betrayal tore through her like a fresh wound, aching deep inside her belly as she let tears fall down her cheeks. Although he had lied to her, she could not make herself keep the knife from Dagr. Perhaps it would be best for them all if he took his brother and left, and Skye could find another way with a different rune. After all, it was what Dagr wanted. He had lied to her and he was willing to watch her marry Malcolm – it must be worth everything to him.

  She heard his footsteps on the stone as she looked at the frozen fountain. Even before she turned, she felt his presence, smelled the scent of his fur cloak and tanned leather tunic. It was the scent that was him, that was unlike any other, and someday when he was gone and she wanted to remember him, she knew it was one thing she would recall.

  “What were you doing with Kanor?” he asked, his voice low and strangled.

  She sighed when he placed his hands on her arms.

  “I – I needed to speak to
him,” she replied. Was that jealousy she heard in his voice?

  “Oh?”

  “If ye have an accusation, say it,” she shot back, unable to hold her tongue.

  His hands slid upward, cupping her face. His blue eyes were pained, the pure angst shining through his bitter façade. Skye tried her best to stop her tears, a fresh burst of despair blinding her when he gently kissed her cheeks.

  “I canna stand to see you with any other man. Not with Kanor – and not with the Laird,” he replied. She arched up in his arms when his mouth covered hers, his lips seeking truth even as she knew the lies that lay between them.

  “You mean your brother,” she whispered. His breath was coming hard as he drew back, his lips still so close to hers. As soon as the words left her, she wanted to take them back, pretend she knew nothing of his deceit.

  “Skye,” he said. She pressed the knife into his hand, closing her eyes as she stepped backward.

  “It’s the Fifth Key. Take your kinsman and go. It’s what ye wanted.”

  He stared at the knife, turning it over in his hand before he let it fall to the ground.

  “I want you. I won’t leave without you,” he said.

  She shook her head. Folding her arms across her body, she dug her fingers into her ribs. Seeing his handsome faced streaked with pain was too much to bear. It shattered her resolve into pieces, tearing at her very core.

  “I will still be betrothed to your brother, even in your time,” she whispered.

  With her vision clouded by tears, she turned and fled into the yard. As she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes and straightened her dress, a booming sound shattered the air. It came from the main hall, spilling through Castle Dunloch like the beat of a malevolent drum.

  “Skye! There ye are! Go with your ladies, bar the door to yer chambers – now!” Malcolm demanded, snatching her by the upper arm. Skye shook him off, confused. Women and children were running in all directions, and men were gathering weapons around them.

  “Who is it?” Dagr asked, coming to her side.

  “The Camerons. They want my lands and this Castle, and I willna give it to them!”

  Dagr darted a glance at the courtyard, his eyes wide when the door crashed open. Armed Cameron men spilled inside, cutting down anyone in their path.

  “Here,” Dagr said, shoving Kanor’s knife into her belt, his eyes frantic. “Malcolm, get Skye to safety. If we should fall, take her to our time. You will be safe there. Use the Fifth Key – ‘tis on that blade.”

  “Dagr, no –”

  “Brother, by the Gods, please take my counsel now. If I came to this time for any purpose, it would only be to see those I love safe. Let me have this, and I shall ask nothing more of you, as your brother,” Dagr replied.

  As Malcolm stared at Dagr, the younger man’s stubborn face faded. Realization washed over him, his eyes darting briefly to Skye before he clasped Dagr’s hand. Dagr nodded and clasped Malcolm’s shoulder. Heads bowed together, she heard them exchange a low whisper in a tongue she did not understand, and she wondered if they spoke in their native Paspahegh. The exchange passed and as the men let go, Dagr’s blue eyes fastened on hers.

  “I love ye,” he said.

  The Cameron forces moved in as a scarlet-faced Malcolm dragged Skye away. Highlanders roared an ancient battle cry as the two groups collided in the courtyard, the scream of swords piercing the air. Dagr shouldered a Cameron warrior who charged him, running his sword through the man’s throat as he dropped him to the loose gravel beneath his feet. Skye panicked when she lost sight of Dagr in the tangle of men and swords, scratching at Malcolm to set her free. He ignored her attempts, stepping over the body of a fallen Highlander as he dragged her to safety.

  When they reached the doorway, Malcolm shoved her towards it, letting her go long enough to cut down a man who came at him with an ax. Frozen in place, she felt the splatter of blood hit her skin and trickle down her throat as Malcolm dispatched the man.

  “Go inside!” Malcolm bellowed. The young Laird swung his sword, clipping the knees of another man who tried to approach. Blood and sweat streaked his face, mixing with the dark bristle in his youthful beard as he grimaced. “Bolt yerself in yer chambers – I’ll keep them out as long as I can!”

  One of the less fortunate Cameron men slumped to the ground ahead, felled by Dagr’s blade. The sword flashed in the shimmer of moonlight as Dagr yanked it from the dead man’s flank. Skye gripped the edge of the doorway, telling herself to move, yet every bit of her body was locked in place. Malcolm continued to fight in front of her, blocking the doorway with sheer stubbornness.

  As Malcolm turned, the butt of a sword hit him in the back of the head, sending him crashing to the ground. Skye fell to her knees beside him and tried to rouse him, but his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

  There were too many men. The Camerons outnumbered the McMillans by half; as a dozen more mounted highlanders streamed into the yard, her frantic eyes sought Dagr’s. Suddenly, Dagr broke into a sprint.

  He crossed the yard, shoving men aside as he barreled towards her. His cloak streamed behind him as he raced across the stones, drawing his sword into fighting position as he met the first Highlander in his path. His gait did not falter as the man turned, and the man had no time to utter a sound before Dagr thrust his sword into the man’s chest. Dagr sent so much weight into the blow that the man was sent reeling, flinging onto his back with a thud before Dagr reached the next man. Skye watched in horror as men fell around Dagr, fearful that a knife or sword would strike him, and crying grateful tears when he emerged unscathed.

  She shrieked and bent down over Malcolm’s motionless body when a sword was raised above her head. The swordsman had no chance to harm her, cut down by Dagr a moment later.

  “Dagr?” she cried out.

  A half-dozen Cameron men advanced in a semi-circle around them. They were cornered. Dagr stood over Malcolm, shielding both her and his brother with his body.

  “Come on then,” Dagr growled. He was a man she had never seen before, suddenly a fearless warrior facing his enemy. The look on his face was enough to make the Cameron men pause, the glare of a man who would fight to the death for those he loved.

  At that moment, Skye prayed for forgiveness. She prayed that Dagr would somehow know that she loved him, that he would understand she would never love another. She prayed for the strength to stand by his side and the chance to see tomorrow with him. In all the deceit between them, she prayed their love was greater, and that someday, somehow, they would have the chance to make that confession to each other.

  Dagr raised his sword, swinging it wildly above his head. The soldiers jumped back, giving Dagr a moment before they moved in. As the first raised his blade, a horrific roar shattered the air.

  “Fall, ye bastards!” Kanor bellowed, sending his axe crashing into a man’s sternum. Chaos erupted.

  She grabbed Malcolm’s arm and tried to drag him into the shelter of the doorway, relieved when his eyes fluttered open and he groaned in protest. Malcolm regained his wits quickly and tried to sit up.

  “My brother?” he asked.

  “He –”

  Skye screamed when she turned to find Dagr. He kneeled on the ground, clutching his belly, as one of the Cameron men pulled a sword out of him. They were the only two left, save for Kanor, who immediately cut the enemy down with a blow of his ax.

  Kanor wiped the blood from his brow with the back of his forearm and glanced briefly down at Dagr, who crumpled to the ground. He was the image of a pure berserker, his wild eyes narrowed in relentless hate. Kanor looked at Dagr and sadly shook his head.

  “No!” Skye screamed. She scrambled to her feet and launched herself at Dagr, but Kanor refused to let her pass.

  Kanor cocked his head slightly, his wild eyes fixed on Skye.

  “Oh, ‘tis that one who holds yer heart,” he said, his voice edged with bitterness. Kanor held his hand out to Skye. “Give me my knife.”
r />   “No,” Skye replied.

  With a scowl, Kanor motioned to Dagr. “You’ll do it, or his death will be for nothing,” he said simply.

  “No!” Skye cried, hot tears streaming down her face. “He’s not dead. He’s not. He canna be!”

  Kanor shook his head sadly. She felt Malcolm’s hand on her arm. Turning her despair on him, she slapped him and shoved him away.

  “He was trying to save you!” she shouted, her voice shaking. Malcolm weakly deflected her blows, catching her fists in his hands until he finally held her and clasped her to his chest.

  “No,” Malcolm answered, his voice hoarse. “He tried to save both of us.”

  Kanor uttered a disjointed grunt, kneeling down beside them. He snatched one of Malcolm’s hands and took his blade from Skye’s belt. It took Skye a moment to realize why Malcolm bit down hard into his lower lip, but when she saw the fresh rune mark Kanor carved into Malcolm’s palm she understood why.

  When he was finished, Kanor held his hand out to her, but she shook her head.

  “No. I won’t leave him,” she whispered.

  “He’s dead. If you stay, you will be as well. I told ye once, lass, ye willna leave unless I permit it. Now I bid ye to go. ‘Tis my duty as one of the Five, and if ye argue any more I will knock ye senseless,” he said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “Give me yer hand.”

  He snapped a low curse when she did not comply. Grabbing her hand, he quickly sliced through her palm. Clasping it to Malcolm’s bleeding hand, Kanor uttered some phrase in his Norse language that she could not decipher.

  “Hold tight. This will hurt,” he commanded.

  Kanor slipped Skye’s Bloodstone pendant between their clasped hands. The world exploded into darkness, and suddenly, she felt nothing more.

  She woke before Malcolm did and she knew they must be in his time. Lying on a gentle slope overlooking a meadow, she could see the outline of a town in the distance. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, listening to the swirl of chattering birds in the trees and the whistle of wind through the leaves as she surveyed the town. It was similar to the villages scattered throughout the Scottish countryside, with framed houses and thatched roofs. There was a church in the center of town, with a shiny bell that hung inside a tall brick tower. Numb with grief, staring at the town was all Skye could do as she waited for Malcolm to wake. Although Malcolm was more accustomed to time travel, she had no idea how long he might remain asleep after being hurled through time. Truth be told, her head ached and her body shook all over. Tears stained her dusty cheeks, and she burrowed her head in her knees as she was wreaked with sobs.